I. The Encounter

Ten decades have flown by since the good monk had passed away and she hasn't changed one bit. The tune of her flute expressed genuine melancholy and heartfelt nostalgia. Whenever she paid her respects to the monk's grave, her being would be flooded with memories of half a century, memories of her mentor and wise friend.

Sighing, Wakayo stood up and with one last respectful bow, she took off towards the West. She still couldn't help but recollect the good times spent with the kind monk. He had been the one to guide her after she had left her mother's territory. He had taught her two thirds of what she knows and had introduced her to humanity. Although other demons would have considered it a proof of weakness, Wakayo's curiosity had made their unique relationship possible.

The sun was setting so Wakayo decided to postpone her journey. The cliff she was on was covered in soft grass and stray bushes. Only a couple of lonely trees were murmuring along the wind in the middle of the peaceful meadow. Wakayo stayed on the rocky edge of the cliff, looking at the forest which lay roaring at her feet. The orange line of the horizon was the only source of light left; the darkness was getting closer and closer and Wakayo didn't like to travel at night. She made herself a nice nest at the base of one of the trees and cuddled on the ground like a baby in its momma's womb.

Bored, she rolled on her back to look at the sky. She was delighted by the warm fusion of colours and after they turned black, her admiration switched to the moon—it was her only interest during such starless nights. Or maybe, there actually were stars—shooting ones. Wakayo got quickly to her feet as she saw a white trail strike across the sky.

"That's not a shooting star!" she exclaimed, taking a closer look at the strange phenomenon. It landed somewhere below the cliff and although she was afraid of dark forests, her curiosity overcame her fear. Wakayo descended bravely between the trees, running at the speed of the light, clearly not intent on spending more time than necessary among the threatening branches. She reached a clearing, well-lit by the moon; there were two figures, one of them lay flat on the ground, the other was crouched next to it.

Wakayo stayed in the shadows, even if she yearned for the impression of safety light was inducing her. From the feel of it, she could tell that the second figure was a Demon Lord—or rather, a Demon Lady—something she had never met before, aside from her mother. She watched with excitement, prepared to memories everything that would happen. "Come out," the Demon Lady called, "I know you are there."

She crawled out of her hideout, approaching the middle of the clearing while her excitement was slowly melting away into regret. Wakayo never took her eyes off the beautiful demoness, until their gazes locked. In that moment, Wakayo lowered her face to the ground. To her astonishment, she recognised the face of the lying figure.

"Mother!" Wakayo quickened her pace while the Demon Lady's eyes widened.

"You know Wakako?" she spoke. Wakayo didn't look up from the worrisome countenance of her mother.

"Of course I do, Lady. She is my mother."

"Oh, you are the darling Wakayo-chan so often talked about! Wakako wouldn't shut up for hours whenever I mentioned you." Taken aback by the demoness' sudden statement, Wakayo raised her head to examine this stranger who claimed to know her mother so well.

She had honey golden eyes and markings on her face, the most interesting of which being the purple crescent moon situated in the middle of her forehead. Her hair was completely white—and probably the reason why Wakayo had mistaken her with a shooting star at first—while the grandeur of her kimono was even more impressing. This Lady was rich and powerful, Wakayo could figure out that much.

"You shall not worry, darling. Your mother is a strong demon and she will be back to her feet by dawn. I shall watch over her the whole night and I advise you to continue your journey. If your mother finds you here in the morning, you will not be capable of escaping her utmost joy."

Wakayo had no reason to trust the demoness' words but she knew they were true. She knew her mother; she knew her behaviour. And if Wakako did find her daughter by her side, she would suffocate the poor girl with her love.

"Although you are right, I cannot have faith in you. What if you were the one who injured her and are now planning to kill her?" Wakayo's green orbs were smouldering with hesitation—she didn't want to sacrifice her freedom, nor her mother's life.

"Very well. I shall offer you a token of my sincerity." Wakayo immediately tensed as she saw the woman reach for a sword handle attached to her hip. The Demon Lady sensed Wakayo's suspicions and handed out the sword with slow movements. "I have been meaning to keep it for when we would be properly introduced, as I know your previous blade has been broken."

Wakayo took the sword and analysed it thoroughly. It was a tachi sword, a samurai's sword used by women in the Shirabyōshi dance. Wakayo was a passionate performer of that dance and had suffered greatly when her sword was broken by a mindless, lowly creature.

"How did you know?" Wakayo managed to question in a low whisper. The Lady smiled.

"I am a good friend of your mother, dear. Now take my advice and go! I promise to keep a very careful eye on Wakako."

Wakayo bowed with gratitude and took off towards the West again. This time, at a much faster pace. She slowed down only when the trees began to thin out and stopped blocking her field of vision. And she came to a halt completely when she walked into a deserted village.

The houses had been burnt down and the citizens murdered. Dirty bodies were sprawled on the ground, smoke was still coming out of the ashes. It had been a massacre that could be blamed on two culprits: one—hungry lowlife demons, two—a gang of human thieves. Since there were still whole corpses around and no remains of demonic miasma, Wakayo concluded that humans were the guilty ones.

There was nothing she could do, other than properly burying the victims and looking for survivors. Just a couple of cottages were left standing so those were her first targets. Such was her surprise when someone running out of one of the cottages tackled her down, that she couldn't even yell after her—it was an unfortunate woman 'saved' by one of the thieves. She probably found an opportunity to escape just then as dawn was breaking.

Unaware of the danger, Wakayo trotted curiously inside the previously mentioned cottage, coming face to face with none other than the leader of the gang. He snorted a couple of times before staggering to his feet and fixing his eyes on the demon in front of him. He then raged furiously, awaking the rest of the thieves and calling them to battle. Wakayo backed away until she was outside, in the middle of the road, and surrounded by a dozen of heartless mercenaries.

"What to do…what to do…," she muttered hopelessly to herself. She had avoided trouble a great deal in the last century, rarely getting involved in battles. But then and there, she was clueless as to what to do. Run and hide for the sake of her safety, or stay and fight in the name of the dead villagers?

Before she could make up her mind, the disgusting men charged at her angrily. She felt pain, in more places than one. She felt the blades piercing her skin, the blood dripping down her body, hands pulling on her incredibly long hair. Felt, but did not see. Wakayo had closed her eyes instinctively, refusing to open them. And because of that, she couldn't see why suddenly everything stopped. All she was aware of was that she lay uncomfortably in a pool of warm blood.

A hand reached out to grab her freshly purchased sword. Only then she dared to come back to reality and quickly sat up. Emerald orbs bored into very familiar golden ones. Her nose was merely inches apart from another nose and her hand held another hand placed on the handle of her sword. It was an awkward situation, during which none of the parties involved moved a single muscle. Until the golden eyed face frowned.

Wakayo held her sword tighter—along with the other's hand—and stood up, very determined to defend her possession. "Let it go, woman," the golden eyed man finally spoke. He seemed to be a powerful demon and sounded very confident of himself. Wakayo shook her head disapprovingly.

"I must thank you for helping me, sir, but this is my sword and I will not let it be stolen." In spite of her protests, the male demon snatched the blade out of her hand and proceeded to walk away. He stopped just a few steps further, holding the sword up in front of him.

"Where do you have this from?" he then asked, turning around. Wakayo shrugged.

"A lady gave it to me. She—" As she carefully studied this unknown demon, Wakayo noticed he had the same eyes, hair and crescent moon mark as the Demon Lady from the forest. "I get it now!" she exclaimed cheerfully, smiling proudly. "This can't be a mere coincidence. You are related to her and since you are a dog demon—just like her—you sensed her smell and wished to find the source of it. I believe it is also the reason why you bothered to slay those thieves, otherwise you don't look like a very compassionate fellow."

"You mean my mother has voluntarily given you this sword? Nonsense!" He unsheathed the blade he'd just recovered and charged at the confused Wakayo who was capable of only shielding her face with her arms.

"Aye! Please, do not kill me, I speak the truth!" Much to her relief, he halted. And voiced a question.

"Who are you?"

Wakayo blinked innocently, gathering her thoughts. "I am Wakayo of the Sunrise," said she, "Appointed heir of the Mistress of the Eastern Palace." Wakayo was smart. She knew well enough when to use her full title and when to just give out her single name. Although her sight was getting blurry because of the blood loss, her brain hadn't shut down yet. "And…and you?" Wakayo managed to ask sheepishly in return.

"Sesshoumaru," was his short reply.

"Ah, I have heard of you! Yes, yes, actually, who hasn't heard of Lord Sesshoumaru, Demon Lord of the Western Lands! I'm extremely honoured to meet you and learn that our mothers are acquainted," she hastily added while falling on her knees to bow. Sesshoumaru put the sword back in its sheath as he waited for Wakayo to stand back up. She never did. Bewildered, he got down on one knee and rolled her on her back. She had fallen unconscious due to the heavy loss of blood.

"Weak, useless creature," he snorted in disdain and left, without sparing her another look. He kept the sword, not as a memento but because he found it rightfully belonged to him.

Around the same time, Wakako had come to her senses and was savouring a cup of tea accompanied by Sesshoumaru's both parents. "Inutaisho-dono," she began, sipping the hot drink, "I do not have words of gratitude for your great kindness. Had you not arrived in time, I would have been dead." Sesshoumaru's father smiled sympathetically.

"You shall not worry, Wakako-san. I did my duty as a friend"—looking at her—"and lover"—putting his arm around the demoness' waist. Wakako cooed at the sight of the sweet gesture on which occasion she noticed that something was missing from the demoness' outfit.

"Dear me! Where is the tachi sword? I hope you have not lost it. Oh, Wakayo-chan would be so grieved," she cried.

"Worry not, darling, the sword is held by Wakayo herself at this moment." How unwillingly wrong she was! It couldn't be helped; she had no way of knowing what her son had done.

"You have met Wakayo-chan? Why have you not told me?" Wakako whined.

"It was an uncalled for coincidence. I had her go away, you know, because she was so pained. I couldn't bear seeing her. I gave her the sword to cheer her up."

Poor Wakako was on the verge of crying, "I believe she does love her mother, after all."

"When was this meeting of yours?" Inutaisho wished to know. There was an unsettling scent of blood carried by the wind, very similar to that of Wakako's.

"A couple of hours before dawn. Why?"

"I think I'd better go see if she's around. To say hello and assure her that her mother is well."

And off he went against the wind. Getting closer, the more worrying scent was that of his son's. He could not perceive why those two were mixed as his son would have no reason to wound Wakayo—or even kill her at that matter.

The place he reached was a devastated village and in the middle of the ruins, a couple of bystanders and survivors had gathered to marvel at something lying on the ground. He could tell it was the source of the scent so he approached the group and made his way towards the centre. Even if he had never met her before, he immediately recognised Wakayo, for she bore a striking resemblance to her mother. She was breathing her last.

"Have you seen what had happened?" he asked aloud.

"I…" A woman raised her hand and stepped forward. "I remember I bumped into her when I tried to escape. I didn't go far, I just hid and waited for them to leave. They attacked her. I do not know why she did not respond. She's a demon. She could've killed them." So apparently, Wakayo hadn't fought back, yet there were other bodies lying around hers. It only meant that Sesshoumaru had been the one to murder those ones.

"Another demon, a white haired one, killed the monsters. He almost killed her as well. Then left holding a sword." It was all clear to him, then. Sesshoumaru never meant to save Wakayo in the first place. Driven by the smell of the sword, he came towards it and retrieved it.

"Will she die?" a little boy asked from behind his mother. Inutaisho smiled sadly.

"She already has."

Picking up the bloodied body, he walked away from the crowd. He then quickened his pace and after no more than one minute, he entered the forest. There, resting Wakayo against a fallen tree trunk, he took out one of his two swords—the Tenseiga. Although he wielded it in Wakayo's direction, nothing seemed to happen. He calmly put Tenseiga back in its sheath and waited. Within seconds, her heart was pumping again and she opened her eyes, gasping for air.

As soon as she realised she was safe and sound, sitting on earth—which she tested with her own palms—her lips stretched involuntarily into a crazed grin. "Dear Lord!" were the only words she could utter, still astounded by her experience. She hugged her knees tightly, rocking back and forth like a little child, recollecting everything she had gone through. It worried Inutaisho, he thought that only her body was alive, that she had lost her mind in the underworld.

"Wakayo-chan," he called kneeling at her side. It took her a few seconds to perceive that there was someone else around besides her.

"Aye!" she yelped as she broke out of her trance. Carefully analysing the demon before her, Wakayo could make the connection between him and Sesshoumaru in an instant: "Oh, my, if the Lady was his mother, then you're the father, I presume?" Noticing the man's confused expression, she added: "Sesshoumaru's?"

Inutaisho sighed relieved, content he had managed to save her life. "I am, indeed. I shall apologise on his behalf. He has mistaken the situation." Wakayo shook her head disapprovingly.

"Nay, fret not, Your Greatness"—referring to Inutaisho's title, the Great Dog Demon—"it's been a pleasure to meet Lord Sesshoumaru. He's an intriguing character. Had I encountered him under different circumstances!"

Inutaisho chuckled amused and informed Wakayo about her mother before leaving. She stood up as well, starting to walk. She observed the reactions of her body at every step. It was fascinating! How she felt nothing barely minutes prior but was able to walk effortlessly at the moment. Fascinating is an understatement.

She continued her journey, mind reigned by euphoria and, at the same time, by a peculiar peace. It was probably just exhaustion. Her limbs felt heavier so she decided to rest for a while and also look for a change of clothes. Led by her demonic sixth sense, she arrived to an abandoned inn where a hot spring was still running. Fortunately, a bedroom had been salvaged, along with all its contents, and Wakayo found a couple of dusty old kimonos but still good to wear.

"I guess it's my lucky day!" she chanted on the way to the pool. She peeled off the remains of her outfit with difficulty then slowly sank into the water. It was refreshing, and, above that, calming. Her brain had endured such excitement in the past few hours that it really deserved and needed a break.

Wakayo spent the rest of the day and the night at the inn and even when the sun rose the following morning, she still refused to leave her comfortable bed. It was warm, soft, clean, safe. It was the perfect place for someone like her who despised violence. But on the other hand, her curiosity and love for knowledge made her waver. She had left her mother's palace in search of freedom; she couldn't settle down. Still hesitating, she thought it'd help her if she sang a bit. She didn't have a tachi sword anymore so she went back to composing music for a different Shirabyōshi dance, that didn't require a sword. And since she had been doing the same thing ever since her first sword had broken a few months ago, the melody was nearing completion.

Its sweet tune attracted many chirping birds and other peaceful creatures of the forest. Wakayo didn't mind nor did she notice. She was too absorbed in her music that she could not hear anything else. Until a very familiar object fell on her lap. A tachi sword. Wakayo stopped abruptly and whirled around. All the other animals had left. The reason: a stronger being had set foot on that land.

"Sesshoumaru!" Wakayo exclaimed cheerfully. He didn't say a word. He just snorted in disdain, just like before, and went on with his own travel. Wakayo didn't waste a moment in catching up with him. She sprang to her feet and followed the mysterious demon who had aroused her curiosity more than ever.

Much to her dismay, he never said a word, of neither rejection nor acceptance. He kept going at a steady pace, not looking back, focused on the horizon. "Why are you so quiet?" Wakayo broke the silence. She figured she wouldn't receive an answer, so she continued: "Thank you for bringing me back the sword." She smiled happily. He didn't even flinch. "All right, have it your way." She mimed zipping her lips but that spell didn't last long. She was normally the silent type but when people like Sesshoumaru were accompanying her, she couldn't endure shutting up.

"Do you mind me traveling alongside you?" Obviously no answer. "Why have you not killed me? Do you plan to do it later?" Examining his outfit, she continued: "Why do you not have a sword? You can borrow mine whenever you wish."

His lips were sealed as Wakayo kept babbling. After a few minutes, she got bored, though. It was tiring and useless to speak incessantly when no one paid attention to you. So she quit asking questions, settling with merely observing her companion. From then on, he became her No. 1 test subject.

The first time he addressed her was after two months of giving her the silent treatment. By that time, she had already witnessed him fight. She knew his abilities—not quite all of them—and had grasped a little of his personality as well.

"Wakayo," he called out of the blue. Surprised—no, shocked—she halted and looked at him. There was a strange disturbance in the atmosphere. Someone was approaching but Wakayo didn't know who nor where from. She felt endangered. Waiting for directions from Sesshoumaru, she noticed he was frowning displeased and gazing at her from the corner of his eye. She realised for the first time in about ten weeks how much of a burden she was to him.

Then, it came. A heavy strike in her back made her collapse on her knees. The tip of an unusual blade had pierced her side. She grabbed it from behind and pulled it out without ever letting go. It was an incredibly long, extensible spear covered in thorns; the wielder was out of sight. Sesshoumaru never moved. He stood and watched in silence, ready to chop the enemy's head off whenever he'd give away his location. Demonic strength flooded her veins, her bones and muscles. She felt it burning in the deepest pit of her soul, brighter, hotter than even the sun.

Raging ominously, she put all of her force in pulling the spear forward. A figure emerged from the branches and the next second it was no more. Sesshoumaru landed near Wakayo, picking up the weapon and throwing it away after quickly glancing at it. "It was poisoned," he merely stated. It was Wakayo's turn to snort.

"Well, at least you didn't tell me it was sharp," she replied mockingly. He furrowed his brows in an annoyed fashion but stretched out his arm to catch her as she tripped over her own feet. She gave a half-smile, resting her ear on his shoulder.

Now, not to be mistaken: he wasn't holding her at his chest, not at all; her stomach was merely 'propped' against his forearm, like some sort of half-hug. "I apologise for getting in the way," she murmured, holding her injured side with her hand. Having a little consideration, he lifted her up in his arms, instead of throwing her over his shoulder like a potato sack. She appreciated not being left in the open, where others like that lowlife might attempt killing but she wasn't so certain as to why Sesshoumaru suddenly…cared.

Before she knew, they were floating above the trees. If there was one thing she could not comprehend, besides his personality, that was it. How could he fly? Her brain was too foggy to process at the time so she ignored the question suddenly popped in her head and focused instead on another thing, of more interest. Sesshoumaru's behaviour. She was even more amazed when he took her to the inn they had left from together. He put her down by the water and even brought her clean towels and clothing.

"Thank you," she muttered but he had already vanished. Although she had no reasons to wish for such a thing, she secretly longed for his return.

And he did return. In the morning, while she was still asleep. Not even he knew exactly why he came back for her. He probably wanted to convince himself that she was worth saving. Sesshoumaru felt somewhat relieved that she slept soundly. He didn't want her to suddenly wake up and catch him staring. Taking advantage of it, he walked over to her and looked at her wound. It was recovering nicely. She should be back to her feet in no time.

His assumption deemed to be true as Wakayo awoke around noon and after a long, relaxing bath, she was ready to set off again. Her eyes were beaming with gratitude but she didn't dare to voice her feelings. She had already learnt that Sesshoumaru spoke only when he had something to say and never even took into consideration her words. Hence their longest conversation was started by Sesshoumaru one evening, while Wakayo was cleaning her sword.

"What do you need it for?" his query left his lips in his usual calm, emotionless voice. Wakayo fixed his eyes with hers. Although there was no physical manifestation of his curiosity, it was genuinely burning in his golden irises.

"What do I need it for, you ask…," Wakayo began, "For my dance. I thought you'd ask sooner one-thousand-and-sixty days have passed already." He was slightly taken aback by her exact estimation. He never kept track of the time. "You have not seen me dancing, not even once in all this time, because you were never interested in what I was doing by myself. I never expected you to be, even."

Wakayo never danced near Sesshoumaru. She would always sneak off once in a while to practice. She considered herself imperfect and decided to perform in front of him only when she would become flawless. Although the answer was not quite satisfactory, he did not press the matter. He was too proud.

And so, their journey turned into a hide-and-seek game. Wakayo was well aware of Sesshoumaru's abilities and throughout a whole year, she had been developing a technique of covering up her tracks. It included reducing the effort during practice in order to prevent excessive sweating. He could never follow her. He would notice her disappearance only minutes after. It was frustrating and the main reason he kept trying to see her was his pride.

At the beginning, he still had his sense of smell. But Wakayo also had her sixth sense and would always end her dance whenever he approached. It became a matter of his honour when she found a way to trick his nose. Still, he didn't rush. He didn't even ask her to dance for him. He waited patiently for her to make a mistake. Time was not a notion for him.

One day, it happened. For reasons unbeknownst to him, Wakayo actually left a trail behind her. If she did it on purpose, he couldn't tell nor did he care. It was his chance and he was not going to wait too long for another one—his pride and honour were at stake. And so, he tracked her, masking his presence as well as he could. Hiding between some trees, he watched as she moved to the beat of her own music. Her voice was divine, sweet and expressive. But it wasn't the object of his interest. He had come to see her dance and hearing her sing was just a bonus.

Her body swayed with exquisite grace. Her arms swung tenderly and she was holding a flower-patterned fan in one of her hands. She had put the sword away, though. Her performance wouldn't have impressed him that much, had it not been for the background. The sun was slowly setting and painted the nature in a warm, orange light. The trees were all in bloom and the beauty of it all was doubled by the reflections on the surface of the lake.

He stepped forward with utmost care. His efforts were fortunately not in vain; Wakayo didn't realise he had come closer until he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She froze. He lowered his head to her neck and breathed in her scent.

"Sesshoumaru," she gasped, surprised. He spun her around, making her drop the fan. She saw unknown feelings in his eyes. The same he had when killing but softer, more longing and needful. "I—" He did not let her speak. He closed in, his lips finally grasping hers.

Wakayo panicked. It reminded her of him. One man who was the secondary cause of her leaving her mother's territory. A man who had tried to take advantage of her innocence. He had been punished, of course, but the trauma he had left behind could not be erased.

Sesshoumaru sensed her hesitation and held her tighter. For some reason, she felt safer. Better. It wiped away her worries and she gave in to his wishes. It baffled her, how good it felt and how she craved it herself. More curious than anything, she responded to the kiss involuntarily, instinctively. Her slender fingers tangled in his hair and in no time, she found herself lying on the ground, the upper half of her body exposed to the cool breeze.

She ignored the cold, something hot was building up inside of her, starting from the pit of her belly and flowing through her whole body. He felt the same, only he actually knew what he was feeling. She started making sounds she had never heard before, strange whines and whimpers. He moved ever so slowly and although she would have freaked out if he had rushed, she was not fond of the constant teasing. She wanted more and more, her demonic senses had made her greedier than ever. He smiled. Although slyly, he smiled for the first time in front of her. He sensed her need, her lust, knew how clueless she was and enjoyed it.

Neither of them realised when the moon rose so high up in the sky but it was so lonely, so very lonely. Never before had Wakayo stayed awake during such a dark night.